


Ah, Mr. Parker. What a pleasure.

by Lequia



Series: Insomnia [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Bribery, Fluff, Gen, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Light Angst, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Police Brutality, Precious Peter Parker, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Worried May Parker (Spider-Man)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-08-23 03:48:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16611338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lequia/pseuds/Lequia
Summary: In which Peter Parker screws the pooch, Aunt May is freaking out, and it's up to Tony Stark to save his protégé's arse once again.





	Ah, Mr. Parker. What a pleasure.

In hindsight, he should've known. That was all that Peter could think of as he stumbled along a shady corridor, his wrists handcuffed on his back, blood running down his temple. He could practically feel his skin bruising whilst in the uniformed men's grip, mercilessly shoving him forward, his Aunt's screams still echoing in his mind as he went down. There was a bandage sloppily tied around his thigh, the white fabric now a vibrant red, the teen hissing in pain with every single step.

Peter Parker was in hell, he was sure of it, because he simply couldn't think of another option as they opened the metal door, throwing his limp body inside. He couldn't help but wince as the clishé bars were shut, leaving him alone in a cold and rotten cell, his numb brain finally catching up with what had happened.

Jail. He was in jail.

Tears were suddenly streaming down his face, the dam broken at last, heartbreaking sobs leaving his mouth which he tried to stiffle by pressing his face against his knees, his small and shivering frame covering in the corner. He felt like he couldn't breathe, sobs turning into miserable wheezing, chest too tight as if he were under the collapsed building once again, debris falling onto him, crushing him for good.

This was all his fault and he should've known better.

He tried to think of good memories whilst sitting there for Odin knows how long, trying to entertain himself so he wouldn't completely freak, keeping the unmistakeable panic at bay, the holding cell becoming darker by the second as the sun went down.

But no matter what he did, he couldn't shake off Aunt May's screams, her usually loving brown orbs filled with terror as he fell, hitting the asphalt with a loud smack. She was terrified and it was his fault, his fault, _his fault._

 

* * *

 

Peter was sure that he was being tortured, his senses were completely and utterly overwhelmed, nearly sending him into a sensory overload, the teen wanting to physically rip his ears off just to stop the noise.

He felt uncomfortable all over. His feet were tired of walking, sweat running down his temples, his throat aching, his tongue too dry for his liking, making him feel like he had hot sand in his mouth. The teen's eyes were bloodshot, darting from one side to the other, the artificial light making him squint them shut to ease the pain, hoping that the unbearable throbbing in his head would just stop.

It was like being on the verge of death, his upper body bent over, heavily leaning against the cool metal, the unpleasant smell of the old material making him gag, his tussled hair sticking to his forehead, the frizzy strands pricking his eyes and-

"Peter, could you please grab some milk?"

"Sure, Aunt May."

He absolutely hated grocery shopping.

 

* * *

 

There were footsteps, right outside his door, but Peter was too beaten up to care anymore. His dry mouth was begging for water, tongue sticking to his cracked lips as he tried to somewhat moisturise them without avail, his whole body slumped against the cold brick wall in agony. The door creaked open, the sudden light catching him by surprise, making him flinch and immediately close his eyes as pain shot through his skull. It was too much, too much, _too much._

 

* * *

 

"If I die, could you please _not_ tell Mr. Stark the circumstances? He'd find a way to laugh at me even though I'd be, like, six feet under," Peter whined, his voice being muffled as he pressed his cheek against the cool shopping cart. He knew that it was gross but he couldn't help it, the metal was too soothing.

Aunt May gave him a massive eyeroll, pushing the cart forward so he'd stumble after it, a small shriek leaving his mouth which made her smile.

"You are such a drama prince."

"It's called a drama _queen_ , Aunt May. You're too old for teen slang," her nephew joked, laughing as she playfully slapped his shoulder.

She fondly shook her head at him. "What a charmer," she chuckled, her fingers resuming their task in combing through his curls as they waited for their turn to finally pay. "You need anything? Spider-Man pj's, more Hello Kitty merch, a new pacifier- "

"Aunt May!"

She grinned, holding her arms up in surrender. Peter shook his head, dramatically rolling his eyes, pushing the cart forwards so they could get the heck outta there.

 

* * *

 

They hauled him up again, the same men who threw him into the cell back then, pushing him around as if he were a rag doll. Peter had always thought that he could endure anything because he was Spider-Man, after all, but as soon as they let him slump onto a chair, another doctor ripping of the bandage on his thigh to reveal a bleeding hole, he screamed in pain.

In his mind, Aunt May was screaming with him, too, because he screwed up, screwed up, _screwed up._

 

* * *

 

Peter's spidey sense suddenly spiked up, indicating that something was wrong. The vigilante froze, goosebumps making him shudder, closing his eyes instinctivly so he could focus.

It didn't take long before he picked up on a rather weird conversation.

 _"Can I see your license?"_ A gruff voice said, making Peter furrow his eyebrows.

 _"I'm- I don't have a license yet, Sir."_ That voice was young and shaking, sounding like a boy who still went to middle school.

"Pete? What's wrong, sweetheart?" His aunt asked, a soft hand on his cheek urging him to open his eyes. He felt bad as soon as he met her worried gaze.

"It's nothing, just- "

_"Do you have any other form of ID?"_

_"Sir, I'm just waiting for my friends, I don't- "_

His spidey sense wouldn't stop bugging him, his face scrunching up as he listened to the conversation which took place somewhere on his left, probably in a small alley.

"Baby, we should go, okay?"

Aunt May was seemingly confused by his behaviour, her hand still caressing his cheek as he just stood there, frozen in place. He knew something was terribly wrong.

"Aunt May?"

He didn't need so say anything else, her desperate eyes showing him that she knew what he was about to do. All it took for him to run was a small, understanding smile on her lips.

_"Here's 426, I need backup; a black kid's givin' me trouble."_

 

* * *

 

"Peter Benjamin Parker, right?"

The teen managed a small nod, head hanging down in defeat, hands still tied up behind him. He was in an interrogation room, seated on a small and uncomfortable wooden chair, drenched in cold sweat because the local anesthetic didn't work as they roughly stitched his leg up.

"Alright, Peter, why don't you tell me what happened today, hm?"

But Peter Parker didn't utter a word, thinking that he should've known better, better, _better._

 

* * *

 

"Sir, I still don't know what I did wrong," the kid exclaimed, his voice shaky.

Peter rounded the corner faster than humanly possible, shiver after shiver running down his spine, his spider sense screaming at him non-stop as he came to a halt, adrenaline rushing through his veins. Alright, ok, he needed to think.

Apparently, his mouth had other ideas. "Excuse me, is there a problem?"

The police officer turned around, face confused and twisted in a way that made Peter's palms sweaty, his grey eyes looking at him like a shark with the only difference that sharks were generally nice animals and that guy looked like, well, the opposite of nice.

The man took a step forward, scoffing at the teen whilst making sure that he held the small kid close, said child screaming as the cop grabbed his arm, keeping him from running.

Peter didn't really know what happened because he was usually fairly rational and he sometimes even thought his plans through, or he at least asked Karen for guidance, but he couldn't help himself as he suddenly broke into a sprint, focusing on the police officer's grip on the young kid whilst tackling the man to the ground.

Falling felt like one second and like an eternity at the same time, the vigilante trying to plant his feet onto the ground to keep the cop from escaping, grunts and growls making him uneasy as he looked at the man below him, slight panic rising in his chest.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" the man screamed at him, trying to wriggle himself free but the teen was too fast, grabbing his hands and firmly pushing them away from his face. His head went up to check on the kid, a relieved sigh leaving his lips as he saw how the boy stood up again, slowly backing away, eyes blown wide.

 _"Run,"_ Peter mouthed, and the kid didn't waste another second, looking at the vigilante like the hero he was suppsed to be before disappearing behind the next corner.

He would get that kid home himself, no matter what.

 

* * *

 

Peter was thrown into his cell again after hours of questions he didn't answer, the cop becoming angrier with every second until he was practically shouting at him to say _something_. The teen flinched again as he remembered the bruise adorning the officer’s eye, a bruise that the teen himself caused. He was trembling alone in his corner, his skin slowly turning into a sickly pale colour because of the cold.

He was mentally to exhausted to keep his head upright, his temple resting against the rough brick wall, hands and fingers numb and freezing. There was a weird melody stuck in his brain, probably something he picked up along the way, a raspy voice filling the defeating silence as he hummed. Out. He wanted to get out, get out, _get out._

 

* * *

 

Peter felt the well known shiver running down his spine, turning around just in time to hear the clicking sound of the trigger being pulled.

It was quiet for a second, time slowing down as he stared at the police officer, Peter's eyebrows raised, head tilted with a confused face, his skin and clothes tinted in the red and blue lights. It was only then that he realised that they reached the main road whilst fighting, people gawking at him like he was a criminal.

For them, he was.

They were surrounding him, their mouths moving slowly as if they were trying to tell him something, the vigilante's eyes shifting from the cops to the crowd, taking in the faces of the people watching.

The moment he saw his aunt everything sped up again, the sound of the bullet flying through the air, hot pain ripping through his leg, his nostrils flaring as he went down, Aunt May's screams filling his ears whilst he hit the ground, warm liquid soaking his jeans in mere seconds.

He couldn't stop looking at her panicked eyes, the brown orbs that were usually warm and full of love blurred from the tears rolling down her cheeks, making him want to run to her, to hug her close and to tell her that everything was going to be fine, but he couldn't.

Just as he saw two cops grabbing her to keep her from getting closer to him, he felt rough arms hauling him up, ignoring his hiss as he nearly stumbled over, his injured leg giving out underneath him as they forced his arms behind his back, the cold metal of the handcuffs digging into his skin without mercy.

His leg felt like it was on fire, the teen desperately trying to keep in his whimpers, instinctively fighting back as much as he could, wanting to turn around and run to his aunt who was pleading for the police officers not to hurt him.

Maybe they weren’t, not deliberately, but Peter didn’t care as he still tried to punch his way out as he panicked.

They slammed him into a car, his cheek pressed against the door as they pat him down, another wave of pain hitting him as they ignored his wound, throwing him into the backseat of the vehicle.

Peter felt numb, his sight blurry, red and blue lights causing him to squint his eyes.

His aunt's desperate screams still rang in his ears on a loop, only getting interrupted by the radio unit as another cop announced that they broke off the search for the _black kid._

He couldn't help the hint of a satisfied grin on his pale lips even though he knew it was wrong.

 

* * *

 

It was long since dark as he heard footsteps again, his aching muscles the only indicator as to how long he's been cowering in the same spot, face buried in his knees. The fragrance was what caught his attention, a sudden feeling of warmth spreading through his otherwise icy veins as he could smell a familiar cologne with a hint of motor oil.

The creaking sound of his cell being opened made him flinch violently, Peter squinting his eyes shut in the hope that he could simply will everything away.

Not again, not again, _not-_

"Ah, Mr. Parker. What a pleasure."

He had never looked up faster in his entire life, eyes focusing on the man before him. Mr. Stark stood there like the billionaire he was, chin held up high, shades on, his expensive suit immaculate.

Pure relief flooded his system, tears threatening to fall as the gravity of Mr. Stark's presence hit him full force, knowing that no matter what, his mentor would find a way to get him out of trouble.

A radiant smile made it's way onto his lips, the teen quickly scrambling to his feet, ignoring the soaring pain whilst clumsily pushing himself away from the wall.

"Mr. S-Stark! Oh my god, I am _so_ glad you're here, holy shit, I thought I- "

His rambling was interrupted by his mentor lowering his shades for a second, furious brown eyes meeting his, the teen shutting his mouth immediately. Both of them could hear the sound of his teeth colliding echoing through the cell, but the moment was over as soon as his mentor raised his chin again, his eyes hidden, a mask of utter indifference sliding in place.

Cold. Calculating.

"Mr. Parker, would you do me the _honour_ and come along?"

Peter wanted to cry. He couldn't move, his legs refusing to cooperate, the teen staring at his mentor with a confused and hurt face.

"Wait- Mr. Stark, what- "

But the billionaire left, leaving Peter to scramble after him, desperately trying to catch up with his limp. It hurt, it hurt real bad, but he didn't care because as soon as he was next to his mentor, the well known hand landed on his shoulder and the teen allowed himself a small sigh of relief.

Until he realised that this wasn't the usual pat on the shoulder he got. It wasn't light and warm, Mr. Stark's thumb wasn't drawing circles on his shirt unconciously. Instead, his calloused fingers digged into his skin to keep him in place, the gesture not a sign of comfort, but a warning.

_Don't move, don't talk, don't do anything._

His heart wanted to leap out of his chest as anxiety set in, the weird and uncomfortable feeling in his stomach making him want to throw up then and there.

There was the rustling of money hurting his sensitive ears as Mr. Stark took a whole bundle out of his inner suit pocket, handing it to the uniformed man guarding the door. Peter swallowed as the cop nodded, face twisted in discomfort.

"I sincerely hope that we can forget about my intern's behaviour." It was like ice cutting through Peter's skin, hurt eyes roaming over Mr. Stark's indifferent face, the teen swallowing in order to keep his tears down.

He has never seen Mr. Stark like that. Not with him.

The insecure smile on the officer's face made his spider sense spike up, telling him that something was so, so _wrong_. But Peter didn't dare move, his mentor's hand keeping him right by his side.

"Of course, Mr. Stark," he hesitantly flicked through the money before hiding it in his own suit.

Peter flinched as the man grabbed his arms, the teen about to fight back but the billionaire's fingers increased their pressure on his shoulder, a warning that he needed to stand still.

It was a real relief as the handcuffs came off, Peter immediately rubbing his sore wrists, his eyes catching the cop's, a cold chill making him shudder. "We don't want to get into any trouble, Sir."

"You won't."

The teen didn't have time to think about Mr. Stark's words because the billionaire was already whisking him away at a fast pace, leaving the holding cells behind without a goodbye, the two of them stumbling out the backdoor and into a dark alley.

His knees nearly buckled as Mr. Stark let go of him, the sudden lack of his presence causing him to hold himself up by leaning against the wall, shivering.

"FRIDAY, scan him."

"On it, Boss," the soothing voice of the AI said, a blue-ish light emitting from the billionaire's watch, scanning him from head to toe.

"The bullet went straight through his vastus medialis; the wound has been stitched and already healed by 40% due to Peter's abilities. No further medical attention required. He should be fine come morning, Boss."

The teen's confused mind must've imagined the relieved sigh that left Mr. Stark's lips before his face hardened once more.

"Call Happy and tell him to pick him up. I'm done here."

Pure shock was written all over Peter's face as his mentor turned away, the trademark orange Audi R8 driving around the corner by itself.

"Mr. Stark! No, hey, wait," he begged as he came to his senses again, pushing himself off the wall to follow, ignoring the pain in his leg as he tried to catch up again, grabbing his mentor's arm.

He nearly fell backwards as Mr. Stark whipped around, shades gone, the full fury of Anthony Edward Stark directed at the teen. His eyes welled up, lips trembling. "You can't just leave me here."

Peter knew he was being unfair the moment the words left his mouth. His mentor has bailed him out of jail by probably bribing the whole police department, which wasn’t something he was ready to think about; he had no obligation whatsoever to look after him and the billionaire _still_ saved his teenage arse.

He fought the urge to close his eyes as he saw Mr. Stark's jawline twitch as if he was trying to hold back, to not lash out on him.

"Oh, really? Is that so?" His voice was strained, every single word leaving his mouth dripping with sarcasm.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to- "

"Do you have any idea what it feels like to get a call from your aunt where she's crying and shouting my damn ears off," his mentor took a step forward, successfully intimidating Peter in the process. "Just to get told that you got shot because you stupid child decided to pick a bone with a police department?"

The teen swallowed, looking down in shame, his fists clenched at his side.

"M'not stupid," he whispered, refusing to meet his mentor's eyes.

"Excuse me, what did you say? I didn't quite catch that."

He stayed silent, heart hammering in his chest, tears about to finally slide down his cheeks because he just wanted to go home.

Fingers snapped in front of him, irritating his sensitive ears. "Hey, kid, answer me."

"Nothing."

"Oh, for fuck's," Mr. Stark stopped, taking a deep breath. "Don't you get full teenager on me, Parker, not after I literally just threatened every single officer in that building to save your ass. _"_

Peter perked up at that, immediately feeling guilty as soon as he looked Mr. Stark in the eye, seeing the pure frustration and anger in them.

 _Threatened_. The vigilante shivered.

"I know," he said, voice just as small as he felt at that moment, the billionaire still towering over him, making him feel like a tiny insect that could easily be crushed with a shoe.

"You can't just walk around and punch cops, Peter!" Mr. Stark took another step forward and Peter stumbled back, hissing as he put weight on his injured leg. "I promised Aunt May that I would keep you safe. Would you call today's little adventure _safe?"_

He slowly shook his head no, not daring to look into Mr. Stark's eyes as he whispered. "I'm sorry."

"Really? Are you? Because I've got the feeling that you would do this again without, I don't know, calling your mentor, Tony Stark, aka _moi_ , for help."

"I don't even have your number, how- "

"You are my responsibility, kid, do you understand?"

"But you said- "

"No, shut it, Peter! If something happens to you, it's my damn fault, got it?"

They stared at eachother, Peter being completely overwhelmed with everything he felt, anger and guilt and fear and utter helplessness mixed together, making his head fuzzy.

"Got it?"

His shoulders sagged in defeat. He screwed up and he knew it, but he hoped that Mr. Stark would at least let him explain why he did what he did.

"Yes, _Sir_." Peter flinched at his own voice, the bitterness making him shudder.

The sudden faraway look on Mr. Stark's face caught him by surprise, the sentiment only visible for a short moment before it was gone again, replaced by something the teen couldn't name as the man seeme to take his appearance in, furrowing his brows. Peter didn't dare ask.

"FRIDAY, call Happy and tell him to take the night off," his mentor said, sounding just as tired as the teen felt, slowly lifting his hands. Calloused fingers were suddenly holding his face, Mr. Stark carefully examining the cut on his temple with worry.

"S'just a small cut, Mr. Stark, don't worry ‘bout it,” he mumbled, embarrassed and freezing and so damn _tired_ that he couldn’t help but lean into the touch, soaking up the feeling of safety whilst closing his eyes.

The warmth of his mentor's hands quickly left his face at that, a shiver running down his spine at the loss.

Mr. Stark sighed, and Peter felt so damn _stupid_ , not daring to look at him again in fear of seeing the rejection in his mentor’s eyes, just as an expensive suit jacket was gently draped over his shoulders.

He took a deep breath, hesitantly stepping away. "Come on, kid, get in the car."

"Wait, what?" Peter couldn't believe his ears, his whole body relaxing into the warm jacket, engulfed by the familiar cologne Mr. Stark used to douse himself in.

Said man dramatically rolled his eyes before opening the door to the passenger seat, waiting for him to move.

"I thought you're mad at me?" He asked, confusion written all over his face.

"Oh, trust me, I am mad," Peter stared at him at that, questioningly tilting his head to the side. "But leaving you now is exactly what my old man did and we both know that I'm trying to be different."

He raised his eyebrows as he crossed his arms, the somewhat stern but still soft expression making the teen feel a little better. _"_ So don't think you're off the hook, Peter."

Peter nodded, a small smile finally appearing on his face as he got into the car, pulling the suit jacket tighter around himself.

His trembling finally stopped.

The drive was quiet, but not the uncomfortably tense kind of quiet. His head was leaning against the window as he stared out of it, not really knowing what to feel. His brain was terribly exhausted after such an eventful day, the teen drifting away into nothingness, looking forward to fall facefirst onto his bed and sleep.

Mr. Stark’s unusually soft voice cut through the silence. "You really are stupid, by the way."

Peter looked at him, too exhausted to disagree, a tinge of sadness making him lower his gaze. Of course Mr. Stark thought that he was stupid, that man was a genious and the teen was less than nothing compared to him.

"You're by far the brightest kid I've ever met and I'm sure you'll outsmart me on day," he stopped at that, looking at Peter with a hint of a smile on his face, his eyes no longer furious, but rather soothing.

"But you're 15, Pete. You're supposed to be stupid. It's my job to guide you and let you make mistakes just so I can save your sorry ass afterwards."

The teen couldn't help but grin at that, laughter bubbling up in his chest, his cheeks red and hurting but he didn't care because even though Mr. Stark tried to act as if it wasn't a big deal by  nonchalantly looking at the road ahead, Peter knew it was.

"Oh lordy, that was awful. FRIDAY, delete that."

Peter continuted to laugh, the fear and panic from earlier nearly forgotten, enjoying his mentor's weird antics more than he should.

He couldn’t helo but be a bit cocky. "Admit it, you like me."

"No, I hate you. You're the littlest little shit I have ever met."

That was as much of an _I don’t really hate you_ he was ever gonna get and he was fine with it, Mr. Stark flicking his arm in an attempt to wipe his smug smile off his face.

The smirk vanished as he thought about the billionaire's words from outside the police station.

_Exactly what my old man did._

"Mr. Stark? Can I ask you something?"

"No."

Peter rolled his eyes at that, completely ignoring his mentor's answer in the process. "What was Howard like?"

He regretted it as soon as he said the man's name, Mr. Stark's whole posture stiffening in the blink of an eye, hitting the breaks a little too hard at the next red light, staring at Peter like he has grown a second head.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to- "

"Yeah, no, it's fine, kid. You just caught me by surprise, is all."

They went silent after that, and the teen was pretty sure that his question wouldn't be answered as Mr. Stark took a deep breath. "He was... complicated," he looked at Peter at that, face twisted into the weird smile adults seemed to make whenever they were talking about something that hit too close to home but they didn't want others to know. "Let's just say that he wasn't really, how should I say, _caring_. You know? He was a businessman."

Peter wished he'd be surprised, his heart clenching as he looked at his mentor. He learned about Howard Stark at school, of course, and he was praised as a career driven man who spent every second of his life among his inventions.

_My father never gave me a lot of support._

"Well, in that case, you're nothing like him."

He smiled at Mr. Stark's questioning gaze, the billionaire furrowing his eyebrows in confusion as he looked at his protégé. "I literally stepped in his footsteps, kid. There's no other person who's more like him."

_I’m trying to be different._

"Well, no, because with all due respect, Mr. Stark, your father sounds like a douchebag."

His mentor's face lit up into a huge smile as he burst into laughter, shaking his head. "I can't believe you just said that, kid."

"Well, I'm just being honest. You're not like him, and anybody who tells you otherwise doesn't know you. Not really."

Mr. Stark didn't say anything in response, silence filling the car once again, the teen content nevertheless. He said what he wanted to say, that's all that mattered.

"Admit it, you like me." His mentor's tone was teasing, raised to a higher pitch in a weak attempt to imitate the teen, but Peter didn't care.

"Yeah, I actually do."

And if he rendered the glorious Tony Stark speechless for a solid five minutes, well, nobody needed to know.

They parked right in front of the apartment complex he and May lived in, the sudden lack of a roaring engine making Peter nervous. He slowly got out of the car, another hiss leaving his mouth as his leg gave out again, the teen keeping himself upright by sticking his hands onto the car's orange hood.

"Kid, you good?" Mr. Stark asked as he jogged over, his hands hovering at Peter's sides in case he needed to steady him.

"Huh, well, this hurts. Like, a lot. Ten from ten would not recommend," he cracked a smug smile as he slightly bent over, trying to lift the weight off his bad leg, a spark of mischief glimmering in his eyes. "Getting shot, that is, in case you forgot after your heartwarming speech about me being stupid."

"Watch it, Parker." But his voice was light as he softly punched Peter's arm, warmth spreading in his chest at the familiar gesture.

They stayed like that for a minute, a nice breeze blowing past them, a pleasant chill running down the teen's spine, a stark contrast to the cold shivers his spider sense used to grace him with all day.

Mr. Stark leaned against the car, arms crossed in front of his chest, head tilted upwards. Peter looked up as well, wondering what his mentor found so fascinating, the dark sky empty, not a single star to be seen.

"I really am sorry for causing you trouble, Mr. Stark," his face was solemn, knowing that this whole situation could've gotten a lot worse than it had. "But I couldn't let them hurt another kid and- "

"I know," Mr. Stark's hand landed on his shoulder again, but this time it was the good kind of a pat, soft and warm and comforting.

The man paused for a second before hesitantly ruffling Peter’s curly hair, chuckling as the teen tried to get it back under control. Mr. Stark's laugh turned into a small smile, his eyes filled with an emotion Peter couldn't name as he slung one arm around his shoulders, pressing him close in such a manner one could nearly call it a side hug.

"You had good intentions, Pete. I’m proud of you."

And that was all it took for the teen to light up just like a sky full of stars. Because his mentor and hero was proud of him even though he really did screw the pooch big time.

Another wave of warmth cursed through him, making him feel safe and happy and giddy even as Mr. Stark stepped away, glad that his mentor's hand was patting his shoulder again just like he always did.

"But next time you call me, okay?"

There was no time to answer, Aunt May interrupting them with a loud shriek, both of them flinching before she engulfed Peter in a big hug, pressing his face against her neck. The teen held onto her just as tightly.

"You, young man, are so grounded,” she hissed, and Peter heard how his mentor snickered behind him, wishing them a nice evening, knowing that Peter was about to get the scolding of his lifetime and clearly finding it hilarious.

But Peter didn't mind, because as soon as he entered the flat after his aunt, his phone chimed with a new message, the teen furrowing his eyebrows as he walked over to the couch, looking at the unknown number.

_Stark Tower after school. You clean my cars cause I had to bail you out of jail._

_I'll pick you up._

_\- TS_

Peter groaned, but he couldn't stop his lips from forming into a smile as he let himself fall onto the soft cushions.

Well, washing cars it was, then.

 

* * *

 

Somewhere in the distance there is a presence, watching them all with a humble smile gracing his face. His hair is long since white, wrinkles adorning his skin, but his eyes are just like they’ve always been, full of love and dreams as he looks upon the world he created. He may not be physically _here_ anymore, but his spirit always will be, and he will live in the stories he wrote and the hearts he touched for all eternity.

There is always a beginning to something big, and sometimes said beginning is nothing more than a simple man with dreams that can make our eyes sparkle with childlike wonder and admiration.

 

Excelsior!

**Author's Note:**

> In loving memory of Stan Lee.


End file.
